Napalm & Vinegar
by GoldeneyedJohnnycake
Summary: "Comfort is beauty muted by heroin. Sadness is beauty drained by lack of it."- Luke Davies, Candy * "I think we have all underestimated the seriousness of this situation {the Vietnam War}. Like giving cobalt treatment to a terminal cancer case. I think a long protracted war will disclose our weakness, not our strength."- Dept. Sec. of State George W. Ball * (More characters later.)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** ** _S. E. Hinton owns all rights to the characters in The Outsiders and her other stories, I only own my imagination. This is my attempt at a proper Steve fic, and I hope you enjoy it. I also don't own the rights to_** **Comfortably Numb** ** _, Pink Floyd does. Sorry I haven't updated in forever, writer's block is a terrible fiend and I've been crazy busy. I know nothing about heroin addiction or being a war veteran, except what little I gleaned from researching on forums and the like, so feel free to call me to the carpet if I got something stupidly wrong._**

 _'_ _There is no pain, you are receding. A distant smoke ship on the horizon. You are only coming through in waves. Your lips move, but I can't hear what you're saying…I have become comfortably numb…'_ Snippets of Pink Floyd tunes leaked through my dazed brain as I tried to pick myself up off the couch. There must've been bowling balls in my shoes as I stumbled over to the coffee pot. It was cold now, but that didn't matter- I needed an intense high, and at this point, I could've drank lighter fluid and not felt a difference. Besides, cold coffee always tastes better.

Eventually, the pot was drained of its contents, and I lost all interest in anything but sleeping. I drifted off with the smell of napalm in my nostrils and the sounds of screaming in my head. Blood and steel gleamed beneath the hot, humid glow of the operating lamps, filling the area surrounding the surgery table with a metallic scent. My hands were paralyzed- I couldn't save the patient, and the wild fear of death in his eyes told me he knew it. And he blamed me. _You shoulda blamed that tunnel you crawled in, Private. Ain't nothin' I can do to save you from bleeding out. There's fuck all I can do, I'm sorry. You signed up for this; we all did. I wish I knew what I'd got myself into beforehand. Mighta saved me years of grief._ That botched operation still haunted me- he'd been blown to near bits in that tunnel, and he was on the fast track to death even before we'd got there with the medevac. All we could do was make him comfortable. _'I have become comfortably numb.'_

Waking in a cold sweat, it was all I could do to not kill Evie, who was vigorously shaking my shoulder. "You're supposed to squeeze my left foot, remember?" I snapped.

"I just forgot, I'm sorry." She backed up, flustered by the glare I'd given her, probably.

"That ain't the only thing you 'forgot' lately. I dunno if you noticed, but we're out of coffee."

"I can't keep spending at least half my check on coffee, Steve. We have bills to pay and food to eat, y'know. If you want it so bad, why don't you go out for it yourself once in a while?"

"You know damn well why I can't do that, Evie! Those people out there'll kill me! They spit on me just last week, and if I don't get to 'em first, I'll wind up dead in a ditch somewhere."

"That was five years ago, hon. Nobody spits on veterans anymore, I told you just last week how I saw that Korean War vet, and-"

"But that was Korea! 'Nam was different. We were killed over there, and don't you dare say we were killed in Korea too! You and I both know that wasn't the same- fuckin' apples and oranges."

"Dinner's ready." Evie turned on her heel, scuffing the linoleum as she trekked back to the kitchen stiff-shouldered and silent.

I wasn't hungry, and she knew that as she poured on the hamburger gravy and mashed potatoes. "There's peas, if you want 'em, Steve."

"No, thanks. I think that's more than enough; you're drowning my plate!"

"I just hate it when you don't eat. You're gettin' so thin; maybe the VA can help-"

"The VA can't do shit!"

"Would you quit cuttin' me off, Steve?! Every damn time I open my mouth, you've done nothin' but interrupt me, and I'm sick of it!"

"Well, then cut the passive-aggressive bullshit and grow a pair, Evie! I'm a man, I can take whatever you throw at me." I didn't expect her to actually throw the bowl of peas at me. "Y'know what? Fuck it, I'm done!" I grabbed my jacket from the hall closet and headed out the door.

"Where're you goin'?"

"Why the fuck d'you care?" Slamming the door never felt so amazing as it did that night.

I loved Evie despite our constant fighting, and really, I think she still loved me too. She just couldn't deal with me being 'like this', as she put it; whatever that means. I kept expecting her to come home with some legal papers for me to sign, but no matter how bad it got, she never did. She's the only thing that's stuck around through everything- the nightmares, flashbacks, couple of drug-related incidents, and all that other shit. She's been through the wringer with me, and yet I still couldn't tell her how proud I was of her. She did irritate me sometimes, especially when the drugs were wearing off. It was my lucky day, though, because I knew where I could get more. Fuck Evie and the VA! I know how to deal with my fuckin' problems better than they did, and I swore I'd do it right.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** ** _S. E. Hinton owns all rights to the characters in The Outsiders and her other stories, I only own my imagination. This is my attempt at a proper Steve fic, and I hope you enjoy it. Sorry for the ridiculous delay, the writer's block fairy is to blame._**

My old war buddy Cavanaugh lived in an even worse part of town than I did, but I knew he was loaded. Being a dealer had its perks, but he said it was in his best interest to stay near his main clientele. Derelict apartment buildings with rickety stairwells huddled around the crumbling street like vagrants in a Hooverville, and I stopped just shy of the streetlamp on his corner.

"Come on, man, be home. Be home!" I whispered to no one. A light flickered in one of the windows, so I slipped into the building, unaware that anything was wrong. When I made it to his door, I knocked out of courtesy, I guess. When nobody answered, I steeled myself for what I'd find and opened it. The place was silent as a tomb, aside from the breeze darting through the shattered window. _Broken from the inside_. Judging by the glass in the fire escape, someone had wanted to make a quick exit and couldn't use the door.

Scanning the room, I noted the remains of a lamp smashed to bits on the floor. That had been the source of the flickering light. My shoes squished down the carpeted hallway. Blood painted everything, marking a rapidly fading trail to the bedroom. I'd stared death in the eye plenty of times before, and it always glared defiantly back- not caring whether it'd taken friend or enemy, but this time was different. I could barely recognize Cavanaugh through the blood and gore, but his tags told me it was him alright.

As soon as the scent of blood hit me, I felt sick. Nothing prepared me for this; not those stupid instructional films, not boot camp, not the whole damn war. Here I was, coming down from a weeks–long high to find my buddy and supplier beaten to death, his stash and money gone. "You and I both knew this'd happen sooner or later, man. That's why I begged you to get outta this wreck; but you'd never listen to me. Never in a million years. Now, it's come to this." I took everything in for a few moments more, then turned to leave. But before I did, I yanked his tags free, wrapping the bloody mess in a hankie and stuffing it in one of my pockets. I don't know why I did it, I must've wanted something to remember him by.

As I stumbled into the night air again, I headed down the street, wandering aimlessly to walk off the urge to vomit. _I need to call Evie. She needs to know what happened_. Why Evie? Why not Soda or Two-Bit? They'd understand it much better than she would- she'd want the cops involved and me to come back home for dinner. They'd just listen to the whole thing and try to make the comedown as painless as possible, and yet, I still wanted to call her. She had to know I was okay.

Lured by the bleached out glow of fluorescent lights, I found myself in a hole-in-the-wall place that served coffee all night. "You got change for a ten? I gotta make a call." My hands were shaking as I tried to shove the bill into the guy's hand.

"You gonna buy somethin' first?" He asked as I sat hard on one of the bar-stools.

"Yeah, uh, I'll take a large coffee, black."

"Dark or light?"

"Dark. I like dark roasts better."

Okay, that'll be $1.50, then. Be out in a few, phone's in the back."

"Thanks." His hands were perfectly still as he made the $8.50 in change. How could he stay so calm? If he only knew what I knew, he wouldn't be able to keep his head.

I seemed to sway as I slogged over to the payphone. I put in a dime before dialing home. "Hello?" Evie sounded tired, not worried, just tired.

"It's me."

"Where'd you end up?"

"In a beanery near Cavanaugh's place. Thought I'd call you to check in. Let you know I'm okay."

"Did you get more drugs from him?"

"No, somebody cleaned him out before I got there; he won't be sellin' anything anymore."

"And you didn't even call the cops?!"

"How can I?! I was in there just after it happened, and they more than likely would peg me as the culprit."

"Did you see who did it?"

"No, but I wish I had. Anyways, I was just callin' to check in."

"I talked to Soda once you left, and you're sleeping over there till you clean up. I'm sick of you being like this, and I'll be at my mom's when you want me back." She sounded like she was crying.

"Okay. Love you, babe."

"Clean yourself up, Steve. Take care." The conversation clicked off abruptly and I was left listening to the operator while my coffee cooled on the grimy counter.


	3. Chapter 3

**_A/N: S. E. Hinton owns all rights to the characters in The Outsiders and her other stories, I only own my imagination. This is my attempt at a proper Steve fic, and I hope you enjoy it. Sorry about the delay, I've been busy lately. Feel free to let me know if you have any ideas you'd like to see in this story. I love getting requests and feedback._**

Six months of Hell never inched by so slowly. I still had bouts of shakiness along with a laundry list of other unpleasant symptoms, but at least the cravings had calmed down a bit after a few weeks. The only inklings I'd ever felt were empty longings in the pre-dawn hours for something to take away the nightmares and sweat-soaked undershirts. But now, I slouched on the porch step that sagged like a well-loved chair. I don't know what I was expecting; Evie couldn't stomach seeing me after all I'd put her through. I didn't blame her, but I couldn't say it didn't hurt any.

"Whatcha doin'?" A soft voice behind me asked.

"Bein' a space cadet. Why?"

"No reason, just thought you might be a little lonely. Want some company?"

"Sure. I thought she said she'd come once I sobered up. Why hasn't she showed up yet, Soda?"

"Damned if I know. Women are a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma. They'll say stuff they don't mean just to win you over, and when you've gone too far to turn back, they eat you alive like a school of piranhas."

"You must've been talkin' to Pony." I managed a wan smirk in spite of myself.

"He called a few minutes ago, yeah. Talking to him's just as good as gettin' a degree. I didn't even know that riddle thing was a quote before today."

"Who said it?" I wasn't really listening and didn't really care.

"Churchill, or somebody like that. Are you gonna sit out here all day, or what's goin' on?"

"Might, might not, I dunno." I paused, lost in thought for a moment. "Actually, I think I'll go walk around for a while. Need to clear my head."

"Okay, you know the rules. Be back before dark." I know Soda watched me leave, but I didn't acknowledge him. Seems like everybody's eyes were glued to me since that whole detox process. I didn't hate 'em for it, but I got fed up with that shit real quick. Makes me feel like I'm in prison.

The park bench I'd sprawled out on was Johnny's favorite. I knew, because one day I'd showed him how to burn his initials on the underside of the wooden slats. He'd either been too scared or too smart to put them where people could see. And as a result, they were never covered by the multiple half-assed paint jobs that the benches were subject to throughout the years. I never asked anyone else about where they went to remember our friends, but I'm sure we all had our places. This one just happened to be mine.

"Why doesn't she cry for me like she used to? I remember when she'd hang onto me for dear life and bawl her pretty eyes out. Now, it's like she turned out the lights. Does she even love me anymore?"

"I dunno who you're talkin' to, but it sounds like you've fucked up, Stevie." Sylvia wove towards me, draping herself over the other arm rest.

"I guess I did. I mean, there's only so much drug use a person can take before deciding to break things off." I struck a match on my shoe, lighting both our cigarettes.

"So you finally got clean, huh? 'Bout time, I missed your tirades." Her wheezy laugh devolved into a thick smoker's cough, which she remedied by taking a swig from a tarnished flask. "Want some?"

"Thanks." The alcohol burned warm in my chest.

"Y'know, I never thought she was good enough for you. You dig? She's too sweet and soft for somebody like you. I saw her the other day, and she glared at me."

"Lots of people glare at you, pussycat." I took another drink trying to drown out her voice.

"I know, but I thought she was different. We used to be friends and all. Guess that don't mean a terrible lot now. You think she'll ever wanna take you back?" She pushed her stringy mess of champagne hair out of her eyes.

"I doubt it. Like you said, I fucked it all up."

"At least you're clean now. I'm still tryin' to get off all that Valium shit. Can't seem to kick it to the curb, no matter what I do."

"You tried counseling? I heard AA is meeting at the Salvation Army down here on Thursdays."

"I just can't do it, Stevie. Haven't been able to do it for goin' on fifteen years now."

"Is it nice?"

"What?"

"The high. Is it nice?"

"Not really. First time I tried it, I damn near flipped my car. It made me plumb tuckered, but at least it took him away for a while. Look, don't you get hooked on that shit too. I wouldn't give it to my best enemy. You stay clean for me, Stevie, 'cuz Lord knows I can't." With that, Sylvia stumbled away into the painfully bright blue yonder once again.


End file.
